


Tied Up With (Spider) String

by skepwith



Series: Sexytimes With Deadpool [5]
Category: Deadpool (Comics)
Genre: BDSM, Bondage, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub, Humiliation kink, Humor, Knifeplay, M/M, Nipple Play, Orgasm Delay/Denial, PWP, Shibari, Spider-Dom, Sub Wade Wilson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-29
Updated: 2016-04-29
Packaged: 2018-06-05 04:39:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6689452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skepwith/pseuds/skepwith
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What is it about Spidey that gets me so worked up? The sassy banter? The lithe physique? The skin-tight spandex? The bondage?</p><p>[Bingo.]</p><p>{It’s totally the bondage.}</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tied Up With (Spider) String

Nighttime. Open on a sketchy-looking abandoned warehouse. Picture it however you want. Pan down to me, sitting on a crate. I’m enjoying the quiet afterglow of a little mayhem and cleaning my weapon, if you know what I mean.  
  
{You’re— }  
  
Polishing my sword, if you catch my drift.  
  
{Yeah, but you actually are wiping down your katana.}  
  
[You’re constitutionally incapable of passing up a sexual innuendo, aren’t you?]  
  
Okay, yeah, I was cleaning blood off my katana. Way to suck all the tension out of the scene, guys. Heh, “suck.”  
  
[Stop it.]  
  
Where was I? Oh, right. Enter the sexiest superhero ever to squeeze himself into spandex. That’s right, your friendly (though not friendly enough for my liking) neighbourhood Spider-Man. He came swinging through the open loading dock, did a neat little flip midair, and landed lightly in a crouch. Classic.  
  
“Hey there, hot stuff!” I greeted him. “Lookin’ good!”  
  
“Deadpool,” he said. His voice didn’t have the enthusiasm I would’ve liked.  
  
“In the regenerating flesh. Are you here because you can’t stand to be apart from me for too long? I know just how you feel!”  
  
“You wish,” he said, narrowing the eyes of his mask. (It’s _very_ expressive. Must be something about how he’s drawn.)  
  
“Oh.” Disappointing but, to be fair, not unexpected. “Well, in that case I guess you’re here looking for the warehouse owner: drug kingpin, human trafficker, and all-round no-goodnik The Cobra. Hey, why do you think arch-criminals always have such stupid names?”  
  
“I don’t know, _Deadpool._ ”  
  
“Too-shay, baby boy. But I’m sorry to tell you The Cobra has, as they say, left the building.”  
  
His webby red forehead furrowed with suspicion. “Tell me you weren’t paid to assassinate him.”  
  
“No, not at all! In fact, _he_ hired _me._ Wanted me to take out one of his rivals.”  
  
“And you _agreed?_ ” Now his mask was judging me. I hate it when it does that.  
  
“Okay—yes—but! When I learned about the trafficking and the sexual exploitation and so on, I decided to unilaterally renegotiate our contract. I don’t approve of sexual exploitation unless I’m the one being exploited,” I said, leering at him. (See? My mask can be expressive, too.)  
  
“I don’t suppose you handed him over to the authorities?”  
  
“It’s so cute the way you still believe in the system.”  
  
He crossed his arms, giving me the stink-eye. “So… what? You decided to play Rikki-Tikki-Tavi?”  
  
“Oo, classic reference! Nice one.”  
  
“Deadpool, did you kill him?”  
  
“I didn’t kill him, _exactly._ I mean, I’m pretty sure he had a pre-existing heart condition. But don’t worry, I cleared away the body before you got here. That’s called ‘setting the mood.’”  
  
“Dammit, we talked about this! I know you’re not as stupid as you look—”  
  
“Flatterer!”  
  
He was pacing back and forth, looking upset. “You know the difference between right and wrong. So obviously you don’t really have any intention of trying to be a good guy.”  
  
“Oh, hey, no!” I said, hopping off my crate and holding up my hands, palms spread. “I can totally be brought back from the Dark Side! I know you could make me see the error of my ways if you took me back to your place and explained it all real slow.”  
  
He threw up his hands in exasperation. “God, can you just stop flirting for like five seconds?”  
  
“I can try, baby boy, but you make it real hard. Heh, I said—”  
  
Spidey’s wrist flicked out faster than I could see and my ankles were suddenly cinched together. “Is that a web-shooter in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?” I leered.  
  
“Shut. Up,” he gritted. His arm snapped out and the warehouse flipped upside-down. I found myself swaying gently from a supporting I-beam, blood rushing to my head (in every sense of the words).  
  
“Are you gonna upside-down kiss me? ’Cause that is one of my favourite fantasies. Just pull the mask down a little,” I said, puckering up, “and try not to look too close.”  
  
Instead of kissing me, he dropped his forehead into his hands and muttered, “What the hell am I gonna do with you?”  
  
“Well, if you’re looking for suggestions…”  
  
“You’re infuriating, Deadpool! You’re a loose canon! An unexploded bomb! You’re a Jack-in-the-box that always pops up at the worst possible moment! _No, that was not a sex joke._ ” I shut my mouth. “I’m all for wisecracking,” he said, “but it’s impossible to get a serious answer from you about anything.”  
  
“I get you. It’s kind of like trying to catch a cloud and pin it down, huh? Or trying to keep a wave upon the sand. _Hooow do you hold a moooon-beam in your haaaand?_ ”  
  
“I swear to God—”  
  
I eighty-sixed the musical number and shrugged, which sent me swaying back and forth a little. “What can I say, Spidey? It’s hard to have a coherent line of thought when your brains are scrambled like truck-stop eggs. I’m not trying to be difficult, I promise. I don’t mean to give you a hard time—I just can’t help it.”  
  
He sighed, his shoulders slumping. “I know. I’m sorry. I know you have… issues.”  
  
“Hug it out?” I asked hopefully, holding out my arms.  
  
He shot more spider silk at me, pinning my arms to my sides. I guess that was a no. “Hey,” I said, “you’re pretty handy with a knot. Ever heard of shibari?”  
  
“Maybe it would help if instead of always talking, you tried _listening_ once in a while…”  
  
“It’s this complicated kinda Japanese rope bondage—”  
  
“I know what shibari is!”  
  
“Oh-ho!” I chortled. “Someone’s done a little ‘internet research,’ am I right?”  
  
“I’m gonna web your mouth shut in a second!”  
  
{How much you wanna bet he’s blushing under that mask?}  
  
[No bet.]  
  
His wrists came up, but instead of getting the faceful of silk I expected, I felt something whip up my legs. In seconds, they were immobilized; all I could do was wiggle my feet. Craning my neck, I saw a neat row of diamond shapes running from my thighs up to my ankles. I let out an admiring whistle. “Fancy!”  
  
He rubbed the back of his neck and toed the floor adorkably. “Whatever.”  
  
“Now do some around my tits!”  
  
Instead of following my excellent suggestion, he crossed his arms and snorted. “Aren’t you kind of demanding for a sub?”  
  
Why were people always saying that to me? “I like to think of myself as fulfilling the mouthy-power-bottom archetype,” I explained.  
  
“Topping from below, in other words,” he said dryly.  
  
“Listen to you with the lingo! Does Spider-Man have a secret life in New York’s dungeon scene? Is that why you’re so obsessive about hiding your identity?”  
  
“No! It’s not like that!” He ducked his head between his shoulders. “I’m just… good at research.”  
  
“Huh. How very Willow Rosenberg of you. Well, whenever you want to put theory into practice, let me know.”  
  
He cocked his head to one side, staring at me thoughtfully through his mask. I had to bite my lip hard to keep from blurting out something inane and disrupting his train of thought. I had a feeling it was a train I really wanted to board.  
  
“Shouldn’t leave you upside-down for too long,” he murmured, as if to himself. Silk whipped around my torso, yanking me up horizontally and tethering me to another I-beam.  
  
“Whoo! Head rush!” I said as blood surged south again and my vision got wobbly. “Whee!”  
  
Spidey ignored me. I was hanging belly-down at about the height of his shoulder, staring at the concrete floor. He stepped silently around me, hands busy, and more cord wrapped around my hips. He kept adding more ties, knotting them around each other with a flick of his wrists, until my weight was evenly distributed across a dozen or so lines of silk running up to the beams overhead. My arms were pinned to my sides from shoulder to wrist, but my feet, though still tied together, weren’t secured to anything now that I wasn’t hanging from my ankles anymore. I flexed my knees a few times, bouncing my heels off my butt.  
  
“Stop moving!” More silk locked my legs in a bent position, toes pointing at the ceiling. I tested my restraints, but spider silk is crazy strong and Webs knew his stuff: I couldn’t move at all, except my fingers and toes. And my mouth, of course.  
  
“Now I know how flies feel. Only sexier. I’ll never watch _The Hobbit_ the same way again.”  
  
Spidey ignored my running commentary, his attention on his handiwork. He stepped back, looked me over, then came close and adjusted several knots. The tips of his gloved fingers barely brushed my suit, but each time I felt electric sparks jump between us. He was concentrating intensely, like a nerd assembling an X-wing.  
  
[He’s probably biting his lip under that mask.]  
  
{Or maybe he’s got his tongue between his teeth. How cute would that be?}  
  
He was creating a pattern—I could just make it out by squinting down the length of my torso: a delicately constructed web radiating out from the vicinity of my belly button. Its strands framed my nipples, which were pointing emphatically down at the floor, and skirted around my crotch. Which looked noticeably bigger than it had a few minutes ago, and wasn’t getting smaller anytime soon. The spandex was held taut by the ropes and I was feeling the pinch. “Hey, uh, not to complain, but Wade Jr’s gettin’ kinda uncomfortable.”  
  
He snapped out of his spiderweb zone to gape at me. “Oh my God, you don’t really call it that, do you? Who are you, Hugh Hefner?”  
  
I failed to see his point. “Well, what do you call yours?”  
  
“I don’t— It doesn’t have a name!”  
  
“Well, that’s just a crying shame,” I said. “Let’s see, how about Manuel? I always liked that name. Or maybe Nicholas. Or you could fuck the whole gender thing and call it Tiffany.”  
  
“Tiffany,” he repeated flatly.  
  
“Yeah, I like it. It’s got a barely-legal, mall-concert kinda vibe. I—”  
  
“Don’t you _dare_ start singing again! ‘I Think We’re Alone Now’ is an earworm too far.” Was that a hint of a smile under his mask?  
  
“Oh, baby boy, I love it so much when you pick up what I’m puttin’ down! Seriously, though, I’m really uncomfortable here. Can you, uh, give me a hand?”  
  
He leaned carelessly on one leg, hand on hip. “Why would I do that?” That was definitely a smirk.  
  
“Because you’re one of the good guys?” I said desperately. “Isn’t that your thing? How can you watch your fellow man suffer and not want to come to his aid?”  
  
“I wouldn’t exactly say you’re _suffering._ ” His eyes glanced over the area in question— _Not helping, Spidey!_ “You know,” he said, “it would serve you right if I left you here like this for some janitor to find on Monday morning. Although I guess that would be kinda cruel… to the janitor.”  
  
The thought—and Spidey’s insult—sent a hot flush across my skin. And to other places: my cock was getting painful.  
  
His mask’s eyes widened at my visible reaction. “That actually turned your crank, didn’t it? Geez, how many kinks do you have?”  
  
“At last count? Pretty much all of them.”  
  
His attention seemed unwillingly—magnetically—drawn to the frantic bulge in my pants. He stepped closer. Was he holding his breath? It was hard to tell, with my own loud in my ears.  
  
He raised his arm, wrist cocked, and a spurt of sticky stuff glommed on to the front of my pants. (Not guilty, Your Honor!) He pulled on it just enough to reveal the waistband of my favourite boxers (Spider-Man pattern, natch) and then tagged those, too. One good double-fisted yank and my cock surged out in the cool air, singing the chorus of “Born Free.”  
  
“Ahhhh!” This was almost as good as that first morning piss.  
  
Dropping the silk, he let my waistbands snap back snugly behind my balls. I sucked in a deep breath and let my head fall forward. A dark red Wade Jr stared back at me, eye to tearing eye.  
  
But my lover-slash-tormentor wasn’t done yet, oh no! Placing a steadying hand on my shoulder, he sent a loop of silk around the top of my balls, squeezing them tight until my sack probably looked like a big ol’ plum. Several more loops tightened around my cock, trapping all the blood. Now I wouldn’t be able to come until he released me. At the thought, I moaned like a porn star and tried to writhe—except I couldn’t because, you know, bondage. I think maybe my toes wiggled.  
  
There was nothing I could do. I was totally powerless. I stopped struggling and a kind of full-body relaxation overtook me. My body was floating, my mind a Zenpool-esque fuzz of white noise. The voices had all gone to sleep.  
  
There was a gentle pressure under my chin as Spidey tilted my face up with a single finger. In a low, soft voice, he said, “So this is how to shut you up. I like it.” His words seemed to curl into my ears and echo up and down my body. “I bet a lot of people would like to know how to stop that mouth,” he murmured. “I wonder what the Avengers would think if they could see you now?”  
  
My cock dribbled at the thought; I could feel precome sliding down the head and dripping onto the floor.  
  
Spidey hummed. He must’ve noticed—he’s pretty sharp. His voice was close in my ear this time, a breathy, insinuating purr. “I could call them. They’d be here in ten minutes.” I swear I felt each of my hairs stand on end like an arena of sports fans doing The Wave. A tiny, high-pitched noise, like a peeping chick, left my mouth.  
  
“Can you picture their faces when they see you like this, all tied up with your cock out?” he whispered. “When they realize just how filthy you really are? Cap will be so disappointed.”  
  
My cock throbbed, painfully. Or was it pleasure? The distinction seemed meaningless.  
  
He stepped away, letting my chin drop, and my gaze skidded across the lean, spandex-wrapped muscles of his chest and abs and… Holy shit! That was totally a Spider-Boner! His suit wasn’t exactly discreet and there was definitely a neat little bulge pushing out the front of his pants. I feasted my eyes for as long as I could before he turned around, and then I feasted my eyes on his tight round butt. When it came to Spidey, the view was breathtaking from every window.  
  
“No,” he was saying, as he paced down the length of my body, “I think I want to keep you to myself for now.”  
  
I felt him twitch something near the top of my boot—another knot, maybe? Then suddenly he was by my side again, having crept back around on his silent little spider-feet, and I could see what he was holding in one hand. It was my knife.  
  
My heartbeat spiked.  
  
The pointed tip pressed under my chin, a light prick through the fabric of my suit. I strained my neck up, Adam’s apple bobbing as I swallowed. The blade was sharp—I knew just how sharp it was, better than he did—and it probably split a few threads as he traced a slow line down to the hollow of my throat.  
  
“The thing about you, Deadpool,” he said slowly, “is I can do whatever I want to you, can’t I?” His voice was still quiet, but it was the only thing I could hear. “After all, it won’t kill you—literally.”  
  
The knifepoint slid across my chest, teasing around the spider silk and dragging over my pecs. “But it’ll hurt, won’t it?” he whispered, pressing the flat of the blade against my nipple. I whimpered.  
  
I couldn’t remember ever being so turned on, in spite of (oh, who am I kidding? because of) the fear. I’d never been so helpless before, so totally at someone else’s mercy—except for those times I don’t like to think about. But this was Spidey—superhero, boy scout, goodest of good guys. I could trust him.  
  
Couldn’t I?  
  
He brought the knife to my other nipple and drew lazy circles around it with the tip. All the while, he watched me with his head tilted to one side, like a kid watching a bug. The circle became a spiral, moving inward. He flicked the point across the top of my nipple and I gasped. Pleasure (pain?) radiated outward and burned through every nerve ending in my body.  
  
The knife trailed lazily downward, down my abs, my belly. Oh, God. Was he going to—?  
  
I heard him lick his lips, and the edge of the knife scraped against the underside of my cock. The blade was sharp enough to shave me if he wanted. I panted, terrified—turned on—  
  
“Please.” Was I begging him to do it or begging him not to? Fuck if I knew.  
  
His wrist gave a sharp flick, and strands of silk fluttered to the floor.  
  
Unbound, my cock surged and pulsed as I came untouched, spattering the cement below. I think I groaned, but I don’t know. All I remember is flying like some superhero from another franchise, rocketing through the stratosphere. Tears pooled on my cheeks and soaked through my mask. I was gasping, sobbing—it felt so fucking good.  
  
About a hundred years later, I realized Spidey was cutting through the rest of the ropes. I tried to help, but my muscles were as firm as lasagna.  
  
“Shh, don’t try to move,” he said. He easily supported my weight as he severed the remaining bindings, which slithered to the floor. I’d known he was strong, but damn! He carried me across the warehouse, curled against his chest, and gently set me on a crate. “You okay?” he asked, bending down to look me in the mask.  
  
“‘Okay’ doesn’t even begin to cover it, babe. I haven’t felt this relaxed since… maybe ever.” I stretched out my toes, luxuriating in the quietness of my brain and the laxness of my muscles. “Anytime you get an urge to do more of that web voodoo, give me a call, ’kay?”  
  
Spidey straightened up and looked around at the warehouse walls, scratching the back of his neck. “Uh… yeah… I don’t know…”  
  
Oh. Right. Of course. “Hey, don’t sweat it, I getcha. One time only, right? No worries, man. I’ll catch you on the flip side.”  
  
I expected him to swing his way out of the place with relief, but I guess he’s a big fan of awkward, ’cause he just stood there staring at his feet.  
  
“Don’t worry about me running around telling everyone, if that’s what’s bothering you,” I assured him. “I mean, I totally will, but no one’ll believe me. Just tell ’em you roped me like a calf, as per usual, and my perverted brain made up some elaborate sexual fantasy out of the whole thing. Honestly, I’m not totally sure that’s not what happened here.”  
  
“You didn’t imagine it.” He took a breath and looked me in the face. “I’m thinking… I might have a proposition for you.”  
  
“Yes! I mean, what is it?”  
  
“I could be persuaded to, um, practice on you again. But you have to earn it.”  
  
I sat up on the crate, perking up my little ears.  
  
“No killing,” he said. “Except in self-defence, if there’s no other option.”  
  
“Let me think about that yes it’s a deal!”  
  
He smiled, almost shyly. Adorbs. “Okay. Okay, good. And we should probably talk about safewords. I got a bit carried away at the end there, sorry.”  
  
“Like I cared!”  
  
He frowned, so I added, “But I’m totally all about the healthy boundaries. Oh yeah, I got lots of those. Boundaries all over the place. And a safeword. It’s…um… ‘corncob.’”  
  
“Okay, noted. I’m glad to hear that.” He glanced out the open bay doors, where the sky was beginning to lighten. “I really should go. But thanks. This was really… awesome, actually.” I could see the grin through his mask. “I’ll text you, okay?’  
  
“Okey-dokey!” I was practically vibrating with happiness, like a little kid hopped up on Halloween candy.  
  
Spidey shot out a web and hopped off, calling back over his shoulder, “See ya, pervert!”  
  
“Right back atcha, hot stuff!” I shouted after his retreating back.  
  
When he was just a distant speck swinging across the city skyline, I went back and collected all the pieces of silk scattered across the floor, tucking them away in my ever-so-handy pouches to take home and play with later. Waste not, want not, right?  
  
In fact, I think I’ve still got some left at home. Hmm.  
  
Think what I’m gonna do is swing by that place on 52nd and pick up a couple dozen tacos before peeking in on the Prestons and making sure Ellie’s okay. Then I’ll go home and have a little personal fun time with my hoard of Spidey silk. I can tell you from experience, auto-erotic asphyxiation is not a bad way to go. Plus it means I get to spend a little time with a certain bony lovely who’s always happy to see me.  
  
{Sounds like a good night!}  
  
[Could be worse. I’m in.]  
  
So thanks to all you weirdo perverts for reading along with my adventures. Hope they made you feel all tingly, or at least gave you a few good laughs. And who knows? Maybe there’ll be more to come!  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
See what I did there?  
  
[Yes, they saw it.]


End file.
